


Our Insecurities

by WritingQuill



Series: (30) Days of Johnlock [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Angst, Christmas, Feels, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Post Reichenbach, Sherlock finally wears the antlers, more angst than a Christmas fic would ask for actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingQuill/pseuds/WritingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day nine: hanging out with friends </p><p>It's the Christmas after Sherlock returns from the dead. John is acting different today, and Sherlock wants to know why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Insecurities

It was once again Christmas in 221b Baker Street. This year was different, though. It was livelier yet eerier than the last Christmas party they had held there. Mostly because that had been almost four years before, and John was still getting used to the idea of having Sherlock back in his life after his faked death. They had been living together again for two months, Sherlock finally having managed to convince John to move back in, and Sherlock had been back for seven. So it was indeed still a bit eerie and awkward and weary and wary, but all the same happier and jollier. 

Mrs Hudson was beside herself that this time Sherlock had agreed to wear the antlers as he played them all a Christmas song on the violin. John didn’t have a date this year, but Molly did — a very handsome doctor from St Bart’s who had just relocated from the Royal Victoria Hospital in Belfast (this particular Irish man was of the non-bombing persuasion, though, as Molly happily described him when invited to the gathering), named Terry Gillispie. Lestrade was present as well, just like last time, but he had brought a date as well, now that he was happily divorced — her name was Lorraine, and she was indeed quite beautiful, witty and non-cheating. John thought to himself that it was nice that his friends had learnt from past relationships what not to do. The fact that neither Irene Adler’s existence nor Jim Moriarty’s threats were present was also nice, yet not really worth remarking. 

When Sherlock finished the third and last piece of Christmas music of the evening, he smiled genuinely and quickly removed the antlers. Conversations re-commenced in the room and Mrs Hudson turned on the sound system for some popular Christmas music — Slade began sining and Sherlock cringed inwardly as he took the blasted antlers off his heads. John approached him. 

‘You look nice in those,’ he said with a grin. That took Sherlock by surprise because John still acted carefully around him, still not sure if he was real, still untrusting even after all the promises and apologies. Sherlock looked down at John, who was wearing a Santa hat with the words “Merry Christmas” written in green on the white fluffy hem, and grinned, placing the antlers back. 

‘Just for another half hour,’ he said. John laughed out loud, and Sherlock soon joined him. God, it was nice to laugh with John again. He had missed this, even after being back, the laughter was still missing. The laughter, the conspiratorial glances followed by giggles, the midnight Chinese take-away, the occasional bottle of wine because why-the-hell-not. Sherlock was back with John, but he could still feel John was distant, and that was painful. So the laughter was good. Very good indeed. And he indulged in it like a man who’s been stuck in the desert for months indulges in fresh water. 

‘So glad you’re wearing the antlers, dear,’ said Mrs Hudson, bringing Sherlock down so she could press a kiss on his cheek. He smiled warmly at her. 

‘Just for a bit longer, these things are ridiculous…’ 

‘Sure, we wouldn’t want some ridiculous holiday accessories ruining that stylishly tousled look you’ve got going on there,’ mocked John with fondness. It appeared that the combination of holiday cheer, eggnog and whisky made him much warmer towards Sherlock. That was nice. Sherlock wondered how long that would last as he nudged John on the ribs, earning a delicious yelp from him. 

‘Oi, poky-fingers!’ 

Mrs Hudson chuckled. ‘I’ll go get some more eggnog and chat with Molly. That lad of hers is truly lovely, isn’t he?’ she said, then left to coo over Molly’s new boyfriend. 

John stood by his side for a bit longer, and their silent was companionable, just like before. Sherlock drank it in, the whole atmosphere, as if there would be no tomorrow. And in the case of John Watson, he never knew, the man was a constant source of surprises, even bad ones sometimes, as how long it would take him to fully trust and believe in Sherlock again. 

*

It took a couple of hours for the gathering to be over, and after the last guest — if one counted Mrs Hudson as a guest at this point anymore — left, Sherlock flopped on a chair in the kitchen and watched as John cleaned up. He watched John’s back under the soft white T-shirt, the compact yet strong muscles moving efficiently as he washed a dish and placed in on the rack, then again. Every movement was deliberate, and Sherlock was hypnotised. He observed the gentle curve of John’s neck, the way his hair was blonder at the tips, a bit grey on the sides — probably from worry and stress, John had only just turned 40, anyway. Then Sherlock’s eyes ventured lower, to the small of John’s back, his waist, which was still slim since he kept his work-outs all this time, keeping in shape, exercising. Sherlock even learnt that John had taken up boxing, which explained his new-gained shapely biceps and forearms. They were on display now, since he had discarded the jumper in order to clean the kitchen properly, and they were truly beautiful. All of John was, really, and Sherlock regretted that all he could do was look. Though he would be happy with that, if it meant he could keep John forever. 

‘Have you nothing better to do than stare at me?’ asked John, voice filled with good-natured humour and amusement. Sherlock was snapped out of his reverie, and looked up at John’s face. 

‘Why have you changed?’ he asked bluntly. Better get this over with. Had John forgiven him? Was it all okay again? Back to normal? 

John raised an eyebrow and leant back on the counter. ‘Excuse me? How have I changed exactly?’ 

‘Tonight. You were… warm towards me. Since I’ve returned, you have been distant and it has been awkward between us, even after you moved back in here. But tonight it was… normal, like before. I need to know why.’ John physically flinched at the word “need”, which was odd, but he also cleared his throat, so that meant he was going to explain himself. Right?

‘I just… It’s been hard, Sherlock. I grieved for so long, it was all numb for a good long while. I mourned your death, but you know all that, I’ve said it a hundred times. But it’s Christmas, and we were all celebrating, and I’m just so tired,’ he explained, running a hand through his hair and grabbing a bit at the back. Sherlock watched the motion and decided he wanted to know how it felt to have that hand grab his hair. He looked back at John’s face, his jaw was clenched, but he didn’t look angry. ‘I don’t think I’ve changed. I think I came back to normal, that’s all.’ 

‘Normal?’ asked Sherlock. Normal was boring, what did that mean? John chuckled. 

‘Well, as normal as we can be, anyway. I think I’m back to what I was before you… left. For three years it was difficult, and that was the change. It wasn’t a particularly nice, fun or good change, but there it was. For the past couple of weeks I’ve been thinking about that, and how tiring it is to actively keep myself apart from you when all I want is to be close.’ 

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he stood up. John looked away and scratched his jaw with the hand that had been on his hair. The other was grasping the countertop so tightly his knuckled were white. 

‘And what does that mean?’ Sherlock asked because for once he didn’t want to deduce, he just wanted to be told. 

With a dry laugh, John continued, ‘I told before that I trusted you with my life. And I do, I still do, even after everything. Even more, actually, after this whole ordeal. But, well. Unknowingly, apparently, I also trusted you with my heart, and you broke it when you jumped. I didn’t know it then, only after much reflection did I realise it. And now… now I think I’m ready to trust it with you again, to give it to you, the remaining bits that I managed to gather together and sort of put back in place. But I need you to be careful this time, because it hurts to much…’ 

After the speech, John sort of deflated a bit. It seemed like he had had that stored up in him for a long time, and finally getting it out had been like lifting a heavy weight off his shoulders, which were now sagging. He was leaning even more against the countertop, and he still couldn’t look at Sherlock. 

Sherlock who had thought it was all lost. Who had fallen, both literally and figuratively, for John, and got back, only to meet anger and resentment. He never even knew about these feelings, just like John apparently hadn’t know. And now it was all out there. It was overwhelming in so many ways. Good ways, invigorating ways. There was something warm fluttering in Sherlock’s chest as he took one stride towards John and stood right in front of him. The doctor looked up at him, his eyes filled with confusion and hope and some sort of indescribable sadness. Sherlock used his own momentum, his own beating heart and the depth of his feelings, held John’s face with both hands, cradling his cheeks like some precious token, and bent down carefully, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. 

He pulled apart almost instantly, because that hadn’t been really just about the kiss, but the promise of what would-be. Looking deep into John’s eyes, Sherlock smiled. 

‘I will. But you’ll have to be careful with mine, too.’ 

At that, John’s lips quirked up into a small smile, then he pulled Sherlock’s closer into a tight hug, burying his nose in the crook of Sherlock’s neck. John breathed in, and Sherlock felt his lips tremble against the skin of his neck as he replied, ‘It’s a deal.’

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa, so this took a strange turn. I almost wrote a happy teenlock, then this little baby came out, so what to do? Angst is not really my area, so any constructive criticism or comments would be awesomeballs! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! You're awesome :)


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